


Harry Potter, in a June Afternoon

by Kikimay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco finds Harry in a broken Hogwarts, after the battle. He remembers desire as he waits for his trial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter, in a June Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Harry Potter, in a June Afternoon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742495) by [Kiki (Kikimay)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kiki). 



> Hi guys! This is my first HP fanfic. Hope you like it.
> 
> I needed to write. Especially about Harry and Draco because they stole my heart. These are the most necessary words. I needed to imagine how it was after the Battle of Hogwarts. How it felt for Draco and Harry, how they could get together from that point. 
> 
> I also feel all the emotions for my son, Harry James Potter, because he went through something painful and I don't know if there are around stories about his first hours/months after the battle, but I feel like he deserves a lot of comfort fics. 
> 
> Lots of gratitude to dragonyphoenix, my beta for this story.

  
  
  
The rumors were following him relentlessly. Whispered orders, amazed questions and harsh comments. Draco wasn’t even listening, lost in the contemplation of the chain set hanging from his chair.  
  
The court room was lit by torches, the golden reflection of the flames was dancing on the dark walls. A handful of the Wizengamot survivors stared down at him. The man sitting on the Minister’s place was constantly turning to his colleagues to ask for further instructions.  
  
Draco didn’t even look up to study his face, to try to understand his inclinations, in order to manipulate him with the right words and the proper attitude. In the long time at the Dark Lord’s side, Draco had learned the unpredictability of the men with power, the futility of resistance and the frivolity of any presumption of superior intelligence.  
  
He’d learned to keep his eyes down and that’s how he’d survived. For his cowardice and his mother’s bravery and _because of a boy who ..._  
  
When Draco didn’t reply to his first question, the judge gently repeated it.  
  
With his eyes fixed on the bright metal of the chains near his wrists, Draco answered.

*  
  
  
Hogwarts was a pile of rubble and broken wands thrown in every corner of the corridors. Draco set foot there after nearly two weeks of absence and nothing seemed changed from the fateful night of the battle.

  
Only the air felt lighter and the sky was clear.  
  
Professor McGonagall looked at him with her stern expression, but the flyaway strands of hair that wouldn’t stay in the bun betrayed fatigue and worry. In her eyes there was also a strange pity, a tenderness that Draco did not want to investigate further.  
  
_“His parents are being held in Azkaban, awaiting a trial. He too must be judged, we just had the preliminary hearing but ... we have to attend to the most important cases first, you surely understand. For this reason, the Ministry has decided to send young Malfoy ...”_  
  
“Yes, yes, I understand. I completely understand,” McGonagall said, dismissively. “I’ve already received all the information by owl, Auror O’Neil. Draco will remain at Hogwarts until his trial. He will be subject to my supervision and that of the entire teaching staff. He will occupy the dormitory of his house and contribute to the rebuilding activities, if he wants to.”  
  
“He can’t leave ...”  
  
“No, he will not leave the borders of our school.”  
  
The Auror nodded smugly and hurried to unlock Draco’s shackles.  
  
“Oh,” McGonagall added then. _“There is another student in the school …”_

*  
  
  
After the first few days of dazed rest and wandering about in the Great Hall, students and family members involved in the battle had begun to disperse. Many returned to their homes, after having unsuccessfully offered to help with the reconstruction of Hogwarts, many others left in search of their missing friends and relatives. Some Death Eaters were already arrested, when the Ministry started a massive search for fugitives.  
  
The school needed a period of purification from the powerful energies unleashed in the final battle, and even the most loyal students – _Neville Longbottom, with his obsessive concern for plants; the Weasleys with their pain too great to be shared_ – had to leave.  
  
Draco left when almost everybody was gone, just in time to see Granger’s reunion with her parents. Harry Potter was standing next to her as she hugged her family and cried. Draco thought that the Chosen One was about to go home with her, because that was what heroes did at the end of the war.  
  
But the orphan Potter didn’t have any home to go. The orphan Potter was left alone again. Just as Draco.

*

  
“The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw’s towers are extremely damaged and uninhabitable at the moment. The Hufflepuff common room could be fine with a bit of work, but we believe it’s best to make you stay in Slytherin.”  
  
_“Both?!”_  
  
“Both, Mr. Potter. I’m confident in your ability to coexist friendly with a fellow schoolmate. Mr. Malfoy won’t object, do you?”  
  
“No, I won’t.”

*

  
And so the days of Hogwarts reconstruction begin. Teachers and agents sent by the Ministry started their recovery mission. Potter and Draco participated too, horrified at the idea of having to spend time together in a closed space.  
  
Since Draco’s wand had been taken and he was officially banned from using magic, the only alternative for him was the care of plants and magical animals. On the second day of work, Longbottom’s owl had arrived to tell him to do not alter, _under any circumstances!_ , the precarious and delicate balance of Professor Sprout’s greenhouse.  
  
Draco arched his eyebrows in anger. Potter was spying on him.  
  
*  
  
The nights followed one another in a dance of growing embarrassment.  
  
Potter never took off his shirt in Draco’s presence and he even proposed to move into another empty chamber  
Draco had snorted loudly, reminding the reluctant roommate that it wasn’t wise to leave the dangerous Slytherin criminal alone. Potter shook his head, stumping heavily against the mattress.  
  
The relief that Draco felt had not been mentioned.

*  
  
  
The breakfasts and dinners were characterized by a numbing monotony. Dreading mindless chatter, Draco had taken refuge in the old table he used to occupy with Goyle and Crabbe.  
  
With great surprise, he realized that Potter did not seem particularly prone to socializing either and, for a moment, he felt a tingling sense of satisfaction.  
  
Then, one morning, Draco saw Harry linger at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with trembling hands and a slight sheen of sweat on his neck. The satisfaction he had briefly felt turned into a bitter potion on his lips.

*  
  
  
Yet wars had winners and losers and Draco, along with his unfortunate family, fell into the second category. Not that they didn’t deserved it – _Draco was not so blind to deny the truth, at least not anymore_ – and, after all, seeing the rotting body of the Dark Lord filled young Malfoy with a relief and a gratitude beyond words.  
  
But his mother and father were the only thing he had left. He’d joined the Death Eaters to protect them. He’d gone through with that mad plan to kill Dumbledore and he’d survived when fear seemed to break his breath and clutch his chest, because of them. Now Draco feared for their fate.  
  
Afternoons became a constant wait for news and any owl who reached the windows of the common room was accompanied by a shiver of anticipation and dread in Draco’s skin.  
  
Potter also received owls, but his expression remained resigned, sad. In those moments Draco wondered how different they were after all.  
  
*  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I asked you what you’re doing,” Potter repeated, with his usual arrogant attitude and his arms crossed to his chest.  
  
Draco looked up and stroked the bottle of liquor he was holding on the pillow.  
  
“It seems obvious, no?” He replied, raising a blond eyebrow in the direction of his nemesis in pajamas. “I’m taking the medicine before I go to sleep.”  
  
“Where did you get it? You’re not allowed to drink alcohol in the dorm ... or anywhere, I think.”  
  
Draco snorted.  
  
“Tell McGonagall, I couldn’t care less ...”  
  
“I’m not a spy!” Potter protested, jumping on his bed. Curiously he chose Crabbe’s, although further beds were available. Draco didn’t want to dwell too much on that. “I just wanted to know where you took it …”  
  
“The Slytherin common room is strewn with bottles. You just have to look for them.”  
  
“Figures!”  
  
Draco bit his lip to hold back a salacious reply and drank another sip of liquor, which tasted like mediocre cap.  
  
“I hate this dorm ...” Potter confessed, more to himself than to him.  
  
_‘Welcome to the club’_ , Draco wanted to say, but woe to him if he ever agree with a bloody Gryffindor.  
  
“So ...” Potter’s voice was reduced to a whisper. “You can’t sleep?”  
  
It was the first time he spoke to him like a schoolmate, with genuine curiosity.  
  
“Not much, no. I imagine that for you it’s the same ...”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Would you like to drink a little too?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The conversation ended.  
  
*  
  
  
The month of May was ending and Professor Sprout’s greenhouse was total hell. Draco hated the damn self-propelled plants and his inability to use the wand to tame them. Most of all he loathed the broken roots buried at the bottom of the vessels. In a few weeks he had destroyed dozens of gloves to take them out.  
  
Potter, however, seemed at ease with manual jobs and almost never wear caps before taking up a particularly difficult challenge. More than once Draco had accidentally touched his bare fingers and had to suppressed the blush on his cheeks that the simple touch caused him.  
  
He had forgotten how compelling could be the desire for something unattainable.

*  
  
  
  
Then Weasley came, with his face covered in freckles and his worn out shirt. Draco saw him curl behind a fence, crying in the arms of his friend.  
  
Draco had forgotten how enthralling they could be: envy, compassion, sorrow, desire. Desire, more than anything else.

 

*  
  
  
“Do you want to drink?”  
  
“No,” Potter replied, dryly. His eyes were wet with tears, but he did his best to hide them. As if Draco was a fool! As if he’d never noticed the stormy shade on Harry’eyes after a cry or his sniffling when he felt a particularly strong emotion ...  
  
Draco nodded, hiding the bottle.  
  
“I’m not going to poison you, you know? I’ve already passed that stage.”  
  
Potter turned abruptly and stared at him for a moment, dazed with astonishment. Then he chuckled.  
  
“Ah, Malfoy ...”  
  
Draco couldn’t restrain his own smile.  
  
“Malfoy, Malfoy ...” he repeated, pressing his head against the pillow. “Like I’ve ever been afraid of you ...”  
  
Draco’s smile turned into a grimace.  
  
“Fuck you, Potter! What’s wrong with my offer? Disgusted with the idea of sharing something with a Death Eater? Too good to drink? Saint Potter, who would never …”  
  
_“I don’t want the pain,”_ Harry whispered. “I don’t want the pain after. The headaches. I’ve already had enough.”  
  
Draco fell silent, open-mouthed.  
  
“I don’t want to feel pain anymore. No more. I just want to feel good from now on. And, for the record, you’re an ex-Death Eater. Say that, the ex word. People on the Wizengamot listen to your words.”  
  
*  
  
  
Draco had forgotten a lot of things about Potter: the way the Quidditch shirt clung to his defined chest, his smug expression after making a particularly brilliant comeback, his nervous drumming when he was bored.  
  
All these details, categorized in years of careful observation, had settled down into Draco’s mind and now were returning to the surface slowly.  
  
*  
  
  
“I’ll be a witness at your parent’s trial,” Potter announced, on the evening before Draco’s birthday. “I can speak in your mother defense. She saved my life.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes and held back his tears.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“I’m not doing it for gratitude, but for justice,” Potter replied, like a good Gryffindor. “I believe that justice is what matters now. Justice and ...”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Draco ... would you like to sleep here? With me, I mean. To keep the nightmares away.”  
  
Draco’s eyes widened as he turned. Potter’s face was obscured by the green curtains.  
  
Without thinking, he nodded and lay next to him. Sleeping with Harry was like coming home.  
  
*

  
  
“It doesn’t have to mean anything, you know? If you don’t want or if it sounds too strange ...”  
  
Draco shook his head, fiddling with the buttons on Potters’ pajama. _Harry_.  
  
He smelled really good, Harry, and his eyes seemed very dark in the shadows of the dorm.  
  
“It really helps. The sleep, I mean. If it’s too weird for you ...”  
  
“No!” Harry exclaimed, caressing his hair. “No.”  
  
Draco’s heart filled with a strange happiness.  
  
“You know, I don’t think that the Wizengamot judges would be happy to know what we are doing just now.”  
  
Draco pictured the face of the judge in charge of his case. And laughed.  
  
  
*  
  
Harry had tons of scars all over his body. The lightning bolt was only the most famous.  
  
He had another one even more pronounced on his chest, close to his heart. It was round and had burnt edges. He had another in his arm – a token of affection from Nagini – the Umbridge one on his hand and countless minor cuts on his knees that dated back to his childhood days.  
  
For Draco it felt like studying a map and it was only natural to pass from fingers to lips. Because Draco wanted to know everything about Harry, he wanted to discover the great mystery of his beauty.  
  
*  
  
  
“In a few days you will go away and I’ll be alone again ...” Harry confessed, sniffling.  
  
Draco drove away his tears, before kissing him slowly. That Harry was allowing him that was really a miracle, the most incredible thing that had ever happened to Draco Malfoy.  
  
“That’s not true. Soon you’ll find yourself surrounded by the ginger tribe and your precious Granger will be eager to plan every second of your life.”  
  
Harry laughed and Draco felt happy. He really had a talent in making him laugh.  
  
“I’m just afraid that ... I’m afraid that you will forget me. The foolish Slytherin who ...”  
  
“Come with me. I want to show you something.”  
  
*

  
  
Together, under the cloak of invisibility, they ventured to the path leading to the Forbidden Forest. When they reached the edge, Harry put aside his cloak and took Draco’s hand in his own.  
  
“I died in this place. For a few hours. Or minutes. Time flows differently when it happens. I walked through the trees looking for them ... _for him_. And when I found him, I allowed him to kill me. I closed my eyes and my ears were ringing so much, and my legs were shaking from the desire to run. I wanted to run. I didn’t want to die. _I don’t want to die_... and I got so scared I could only hear the beating of my heart and their voices and ...”  
  
“Harry ...”  
  
“I haven’t said that to Hermione or Ron. I honestly don’t know if I will ever tell anyone else. It just hurts too much.”  
  
Draco was crying for him, because Harry wanted to be fine and good forever. No more pain. And Draco loved him so terribly he would have granted that to him. He would have granted the world, if only Harry had asked.  
  
“Now that you know, you think I’ll ever forget you?”  
  
Draco shook his head and the tears flowed on his neck. They were tears of gratitude and sorrow and love. And in that moment, Draco wondered how he could have ever confuse the desire he felt for that wonderful, so very brave boy with something so trivial as hatred.  
  
Then, when Harry turned toward him and kissed him passionately, Draco had the distinct impression of flying and forgot all of his fears.  
  
No more trials, past or Dark Lord. No more Wizengamot.  
  
There was only Harry Potter, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in a June afternoon. A memory to keep.  
  
*  
  
When the Auror escorted him to the chair and the chains were locked around his wrists, Draco didn’t feel uncertainty for the imminent judgment.  
  
He didn’t feel brave or strong, but if Harry had come to see him, despite the incalculable stupidity of such a move, Draco could have faced even Azkaban with that silly, feverish joyful sentiment he had always associated with Gryffindor, but that had to belong to Slytherin too, given the misdeeds committed by his comrades in its name.  
  
For a moment Draco turned and there he was, behind the benches, smiling slyly for encouragement.  
  
Stupid, stupid Gryffindor.  
  
Brave Gryffindor.  
  
_Generous Harry._  
  
Draco smiled back and he turned to face the judge, staring straight into his eyes.

 


End file.
